


Say I'm the Only Bee in Your Bonnet

by remiges



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Magical Realism, Tattoos, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-02 01:05:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17254742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiges/pseuds/remiges
Summary: Kris is actually looking forward to inking Claude, but he's still kind of pissed. It's just like Claude to ask for something difficult and then not acknowledge that fact at all, simply say 'Flower' and wait for Kris to jump.





	Say I'm the Only Bee in Your Bonnet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeswayappianway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswayappianway/gifts).



> Happy holidays and a happy new year! <3
> 
> Title from [Birdhouse In Your Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uMmPWNVCvM) by They Might Be Giants.

There's someone leaning up against Kris' car when he gets out to the parking garage after the game. 

"Hey," Claude says. He's got his legs stuck out in front of him, toque pulled low and hands jammed in his pockets. "I thought I was going to miss you, but then you took forever. What the fuck were you doing?" 

The answer is 'sulking in the showers' if Kris is being brutally honest, but he's not about to tell Claude that. If he doesn't have time to decompress after a loss before seeing Claude, it usually ends with them yelling at each other and not having sex. Or, having sex while sniping at each other, which isn't Kris' favorite thing. They don't always have sex after games, but if pressed, Kris couldn't have said when the last time was that they hadn't. 

"I was busy. What are you doing here?" Here as in 'leaning on his car' he means, instead of in an Uber to Kris' place. 

"Waiting," Claude says, like Kris doesn't have eyes in his head. He pushes off the car and takes his gloved hands out of his pockets before putting them back in again. "I wanted to ask if you still have your inks."

Kris pauses in the act of getting his keys out of his pocket before he unlocks the car. "Why?" 

"It's Marc's birthday coming up," Claude says, and Kris hasn't forgotten the birthday of his best friend and fuckbuddy. "I thought it'd be nice to get an ink for him. A fleur-de-lis, something like that." 

Kris remembers how much Flower had liked touching Kris' inks before he couldn't get them anymore, so he can't say Claude doesn't have a point. Still, it fills him with something nameless and ugly to think about. Not Claude and Flower, but Claude _asking_ Kris to do this. And Claude must know it's a touchy subject, otherwise he wouldn't be here in the parking garage instead of asking Kris at his house. 

Still, it's Flower. It's Claude asking, and it's Flower. 

"Fine," Kris says, and if he sounds clipped, Claude doesn't comment on it as he heads around to the passenger's side. 

***

They're inks, not tattoos. That's an important distinction. Inks absorb into the skin in a slow release of power and eventually vanish once the blessing is gone. The blessings aren't anything that change the way you see the ice—there's no magic in the world that can cause you to make better plays or increase your intuition—but they help the physical side. Strength, speed, healing. Nothing big, but an edge. And when you're at the top of your game, sometimes an edge is all you need. 

It's expensive, and regulated, and there's a saturation point you reach where no matter how much ink you pump in the benefit doesn't rise, but it's _hockey_. It's what makes you a professional player. It means you've arrived. 

And Kris may have arrived a long time ago, but he no longer has the ink to prove that. 

One day his inker had started work on the outline of a lion's mane, and the next thing Kris knew the world was spinning and he was having a hard time breathing. It goes like that sometimes, a body suddenly reacting negatively to the blessings. It had been a couple of years after his stroke, and that's what they told him caused it later—just a long, slow decay until his body finally said 'enough.' And Kris knows some players don't use ink at all, for medical reasons or religious or personal, but it's different when it's something taken from him. 

"Okay, so are we doing this here, or…?" Claude asks, toeing his shoes off in Kris' kitchen. They'd driven over listening to the radio instead of talking, and Claude seems to have picked up on Kris' bad mood. He's not hovering, quite, but he's not as at ease as he normally is. 

"Yeah, we'll do it here," Kris says. "Stay here, I have to grab everything," and when he leaves it's definitely not a retreat.

Kris had liked inks. _Likes_ , he should say. He has a set of colors collecting dust in his bathroom cupboard, but he pulls out the iridescent one that looks the most like the inks the trainers use. He doesn't have to check the expiration date because all of his inks are unblessed, so they don't impart any of the powers regular inks do. Not a lot of players use unblessed ink on themselves alongside their _actual_ ink, but Kris had. He tries not to think about it as he takes his kit back into the kitchen and puts it down on the counter. 

"Where do you want it?" he asks. There's a part of him that's actually looking forward to this now that he's gotten everything out, but he's still kind of pissed. It's just like Claude to ask for something difficult and then not acknowledge that fact at all, simply say 'Flower' and wait for Kris to jump.

"I was thinking my back," Claude says, taking off his shirt and hanging it over a stool. Kris tries not to pay attention to the way his muscles flex as he moves. 

"Come on," he tells him, moving everything off the island and shaking out a sheet over it. The ink will close up after itself, part of the chemical property even unblessed, so he isn't worried about infection. Still, he doesn't want to make a mess, and the lighting is better in the kitchen. He isn't feeling gracious enough to put Claude on his stomach on the couch. 

Claude hesitates for a minute, then blows out a breath and uses one of Kris' bar stools to get on the island. He stretches out, and his legs hang off the edge but not too far. 

"A fleur-de-lis," he says, and Kris hasn't forgotten. He digs out his pen and grabs his phone to open up Google Images and give Claude some options. 

"How big? I'm only doing an outline, I don't have my shader." He'd thrown it out after the first time he'd tried to ink himself with unblessed ink and found that he couldn't. Not because of his body, just because it had felt _wrong_ , like he was a little boy trying on his father's clothes. Pretending. 

"Not really big," Claude says, bringing Kris back to the present. He taps through the different pictures until he finally settles on one that looks close to what Flower has on the back of his mask. 

"Alright." Kris takes the phone back from him and uncaps his pen. He's pretty good at freehanding things, and the design isn't that complicated. "Hold still," he tells Claude, and then decides where he wants to start and puts the pen to Claude's skin. 

It doesn't take him long to finish the design, and he takes a picture and shows Claude before he gets ready to ink. Claude is being quiet, and Kris has forgotten how much he likes this part—all the subroutines and pieces that have to work together. The ink for the gun, the needle, the way it all hums in his hand. It feels… forbidden, somehow, even though he's not going to use it on himself.

"You know the deal," he tells Claude, because Claude has his own ink on his calf. He's done this once or twice or a couple hundred times before, like almost every other professional athlete. 

Sure enough, Claude grouches, "Get on with it," and Kris fires up the gun. 

It's a little strange inking someone else. He's done it before, but usually he just worked on himself. Still, the motions of 'ink and wipe' are familiar, and he falls back into it like he'd never left. 

He's almost done when Claude makes a low sound and Kris stops the gun. "Okay?" he asks. 

Claude shifts, then settles down again. "Fine, just do it," he says, not looking up. "Don't draw it out."

There isn't much left to do, but Kris eyes Claude's back skeptically. He's trembling slightly, and Kris is pretty sure it's from pain instead of the temperature. "If you need a break, we can stop for a while," he says, but Claude makes a frustrated sound and waves him off. Kris hesitates, but Claude's asking for it and it really shouldn't take that much longer, so he starts the gun again.

"Kris, I swear to _god_ ," Claude says the next time he stops, but Kris is already putting the gun on the counter and screwing the top on the ink. 

"It's done, okay?" He gives him a minute, but Claude is taking deep breaths and doesn't look like he's going to be stopping any time soon. He hasn't made any move to get up yet. 

"Listen, do you want me to call Flower or something?" Kris asks. This seems like the kind of thing where he'd know what to do. 

"No," Claude grits out. His fingertips are white against the edge of the island. "It's supposed to be a surprise." 

It's also going to be a surprise if Flower _kills them_ , but Kris doesn't point that out. 

"Okay, just… breathe," he says, like Claude needs to be reminded of that. His anger is draining out of him, and he doesn't want to know what will be left when it's gone. "I thought you liked pain, though." Kris likes pain, and even if he didn't, inking hasn't ever hurt much for him, even the unblessed kind. 

"You're confusing me with you," Claude says. His voice is muffled from the way he's got his face buried in the crook of his elbow. "What the fuck part of having my hair pulled makes you think I'd like this?" 

What part indeed, Kris thinks. 

"You are such a _dick_ ," he says, finally doing something useful and raiding his refrigerator for an ice pack. "Jesus, Claude, you should have said something. I wouldn't have made you just suffer through it." It's been so long since he's inked someone that he's more angry at himself for not thinking to ask about pain levels than he is at Claude for holding his tongue, though. 

He finds what he's looking for, and when he settles the ice pack between Claude's shoulders, his whole body bows. 

"Mother _fucker_ ," Claude hisses, shifting on the sheet. 

"Leave it," Kris tells him, getting a hand on his shoulder in case he gets any bright ideas. "It'll help the ink set faster and also numb the skin, which I could have done from the beginning if you weren't such a _masochist_." 

"Pot, kettle," Claude says, but he stops trying to twist the ice pack off at least. 

Kris digs his thumbs into the sides of Claude's neck where he's tense, then switches to petting his hair when he relaxes some. Flower had liked doing that to Kris when they'd tried dating, and he'd kept it up even when they'd ended up as fuckbuddies again. Kris would bet solid money that Flower does this to Claude. 

"Listen, I have to get up," Claude says after a while. "Your counter is murder on my hips." 

"I mean, it _is_ granite," Kris says, but he helps Claude off and gets the saran wrap so he can keep the ice pack in place. Claude makes a face, but doesn't protest.

Kris wraps the saran wrap around Claude in relative silence, but he finally cracks. "Look, I didn't know it would hurt like that for you," he says, which is as close as he can get right now to saying sorry. "I would have done it differently if I'd known." If he'd stopped to _think_ , god.

"It's fine," Claude says as Kris finishes with the wrap and dumps the roll on the counter, but it's not fine. 

"It's kind of a touchy subject," he continues, because Claude deserves at least that much. "I really liked getting inks, and now I can't anymore. You pissed me off in the garage, but I shouldn't have inked while I was mad." 

"If I'd known you had some huge hangup, I wouldn't have asked," Claude says, tracing a finger along the saran wrap. "You were the only person I knew who had unblessed ink, otherwise I would have saved my skin." 

"I thought you knew," Kris says, feeling off-balance. "You were nervous in the garage. I thought Flower had told you." 

Claude gives him a look. "Of course I was nervous, I don't like needles," and, okay. That wasn't what Kris had been expecting him to say at all.

"You don't like needles?" he asks, eyebrows raising involuntarily. 

"Laugh it up, whatever," Claude says, waving a hand at him, but Kris hadn't been planning on it.

"How do you even get your ink, then?" 

"I suck it up," Claude says, shrugging. "It helps that they're small," and he's right. Claude favors the outline of the Flyers' logo or twenty-eights, though the Flyers don't require their players to have team tattoos like some places do. They probably have more ink pushed into them to get the full force of the blessing, but it's not like it takes much ink by volume. 

Kris drums his fingers on the counter for a minute, but he doesn't know where they go from here, what he's supposed to say. Luckily, it seems that Claude doesn't have that problem. 

"Look," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I get that this is weird, whatever. Do you still want to have sex or should I just leave?" and that's more Kris' style than talking about feelings. 

"Yeah, come on. I'll blow you if you want, but only if we do it in the living room. I'm not ruining my knees on this tile," and Claude follows him to the couch. 

Kris is pretty proud of his blowjob skills. He'd learned them on a variety of players and hookups, then refined them with Flower. He can deepthroat and do this thing with his tongue that he has on good authority makes people see stars, but most of all he _likes_ giving blowjobs. 

Claude usually likes getting them, too, but apparently not tonight. Kris stays on his knees for a while, but none of his usual tricks are working. He tries not to think about how Claude's probably still mostly soft because he's in pain, since he doesn't want to deal with any guilt from that right now. 

"I don't think it's happening, sorry," Claude says eventually, carding a hand through Kris' hair, and Kris pulls off. Claude's half-hard dick bobs gently in front of his face. He gives in to the urge to kiss it, then sits back on his heels. 

"Do you want me to do something else?" Claude really has to be in the right mood to want to get fucked, but Kris could finger him while he blows him. 

"No, I don't think it'll help," Claude says with a frown at his dick. "Just get up here," and Kris goes. Claude jerks him off with just spit to ease the way for a while, but Kris is distracted thinking about inking and Flower and Claude not being able to get it up, so _he_ isn't really in the mood either. He shakes his head when Claude goes to switch hands, stilling him with a touch to his wrist, and Claude takes his hand back and slumps against the couch. 

"We make a nice fucking pair, don't we?" Kris says, staring at the wall where his decorator had hung a print of aspen trees. 

"'Fucking,'" Claude snorts, then falls silent. 

They sit there for a couple of minutes while Kris tries to work up the energy to put his dick back in his pants. He wonders what Claude's thinking about, but he doesn't ask. The ice pack has probably been on his back for long enough, but Claude hasn't made any move to take it off yet. 

"I've got a flight out later tonight, I should probably get back to the hotel," Claude says finally, but he doesn't get off the couch. 

"Do you want a ride?" Kris asks. He doesn't know why, it's not like he usually chauffeurs Claude around. Maybe it's just because Claude had gotten a ride in with him, or the ink, or the destruction of their regular routine of sex and breakfast at night.

"Nah, it's fine." Claude undoes the saran wrap and dumps it and the ice pack on the cushion next to him, then messes around on his phone for a minute before asking, "Want to make out until my ride gets here? It'll be like fifteen minutes." 

Kris shrugs and finally does up his pants. "Sure." 

Claude is a good kisser. He's an _infuriatingly_ good kisser, which is something Kris has complained about to Flower before. Flower had laughed at him, but he'd also spilled on the spot behind Claude's ear that drives him wild, which Kris has since put to good use. He's pretty sure Flower told Claude what he'd said, but that's the trouble with sleeping with someone who likes to gossip as much as Flower does. He's loyal, and he holds his tongue when it matters, but _god_ can he talk. 

It's a little weird just kissing without having an end goal they're working toward, but also kind of nice. Kris focuses on the feeling of Claude's beard against his own, the warm skin on his chest, Claude's hand cradling the back of his neck. He likes having Claude's full focus, likes the way he lets Kris lead until he takes over. He always seems to know the right amount of teeth to use. 

Claude's phone buzzes a while later, and Claude looks at it before kissing Kris one more time and nipping his lower lip. "Thanks for the ink," he says, then goes to grab his discarded shirt and shoes.

"Hey," Kris calls from over the back of the couch while Claude is putting his toque back on. Claude looks back at him from the island. "Just… have fun," he finishes lamely. "Tell me if Flower likes the ink." 

"He'd better like it," Claude mutters, pulling on his gloves. "My other idea was a new coffee maker, and what does he go out and buy the other week? A fucking coffee maker." 

That sounds like Flower, Kris has to admit.

"I'm sure he'll like it," Kris tells him. "And if he doesn't, blame the canvas I was working with."

"Yeah, whatever," Claude laughs. He looks at his phone again, sketches a wave at Kris, and then he's gone. 

Doesn't like needles, Kris thinks as he gets off the couch to start cleaning up the mess they'd made of his kitchen. Flower is probably going to come in his pants when he sees the ink, and then he really is going to kill them. 

***

It's like now that he's started thinking about it again, a dam has opened up. Suddenly, Kris is seeing ink everywhere. There's the usual team things—Muzz can't have any ink for a while because of his concussion and the Pittsburgh media is losing its collective mind, and Rusty is always polling the locker room for what his next ink should look like—but it's more than that. There's a story in the news about how ink might help with certain mental illnesses, and then some celebrity gets a new ink and it's in all the tabloids, and the other day Kris had found himself staring at his barista's tattoo—just a regular tattoo, no iridescent shimmer, no blessings—and now he's pretty sure she thinks he was trying to hit on her. 

This never used to happen before he'd inked Claude. He thinks about texting him to complain, but that seems childish. Flower is out for the same reason, since there's a good possibility that he'd just _tell_ Claude, and that would be even worse than texting him to begin with.

"Earth to Tanger," Horny says, waving his hand in front of Kris' face. Kris bats it down irritably. "Are you even listening?" 

"I'd listen if you had something worthwhile to say," Kris says, because it's lunch and he's pretty sure he didn't miss anything important. A couple of the guys laugh, but Sid frowns at him. Kris rubs a hand over his face and resists the urge to sigh. He knows he hasn't been on his best behavior lately—or, at least more so than he usually is—and he needs to rein it in before Sid pulls him aside to ask him what's wrong or to tell him to pull it together. 

"You were saying something about your terrible wine collection?" he says, and that gets the rest of their side of the table going again. Kris finishes off his sandwich and chimes in when necessary, and he's thinking about getting a refill when his phone buzzes. 

It's a picture from Flower. Kris isn't anywhere stupid enough to open it in public. 

In the privacy of his own car, after making his excuses as soon as he could and avoiding Sid, Kris takes a breath and presses his thumb to the home button. When he opens his texts, it takes him a minute to figure out what he's seeing. Then the expanse of white resolves itself into crumpled sheets. That's the curve of a neck, the dip of a back, and there, between the crest of two shoulder blades, is a fleur-de-lis. 

Kris _stares_. The ink looks good, the lines sharp and stark, but what he's really looking at is the hickey on Claude's neck. His hair is tousled on the pillow like Flower's been grabbing it, and Kris can't see his face, none of them are that stupid, but god, he can imagine. 

_Thanks_ , Flower had texted, and Kris' thumbs hover above the screen for long enough that it goes dark and he has to tap it awake once, twice, before he finally lets it time out. He hasn't got any fucking idea what he's supposed to say to that. You're welcome? My pleasure? He'd liked inking again, and he likes making Flower happy, and he even, god help him, likes Claude. 

He finally sends back a thumbs up, along with the sunglasses emoji, a cactus, a flower, and a flames emoji, but just the one. He doesn't want Claude getting a big head or anything. 

He hopes Flower knows what he's trying to say, because he sure as hell doesn't. 

***

Technically, Flower and Claude had gotten together because of him. He and Claude had fucked at the Nashville All-Star Game, and he'd told Flower that Claude—Giroux, back then—gave the best damn head he'd ever had. It was partly true and partly a way to needle Flower, who'd always been a little too bite-y for Kris' tastes. He and Kris might have failed at the dating part of a relationship, but that didn't mean they couldn't still have fun. 

According to Flower, he'd sweet-talked Claude into blowing him after the next game they'd played against the Flyers. According to Claude, Flower had come up to him and told him he was down to fuck if Claude wanted to find out how far he could bend. Either way, Claude had left a bite mark on the back of Flower's neck that Kris had teased him about until he'd spilled the details. 

Kris hadn't really expected them to start up some sort of fuckbuddy thing that progressed to them as… whatever they were. Something more than friends, he thinks, but maybe less than boyfriends. He doesn't regret getting them together in whatever small role he'd played, because it had ended up with him having twice the amount of sex. And it's not like he's a jealous person, so it's fine. 

Okay, he _is_ a jealous person, but not about Flower having sex with other people. Definitely not about Claude.

***

Kris wouldn't say he and Flower have any kind of standing phone date, but they call pretty regularly. Sometimes just to catch up, sometimes for… something else entirely.

"Hey, are you clean?" Flower asks right after they've finished having phone sex. 

Kris stares at the mess on his stomach and raises an eyebrow Flower can't see. "Did you want to dirty me up some more?" He's not really up for a second round, but he could let Flower try. 

"No, I mean _clean_ , like STDs," Flower says, and it takes a moment for that to sink in. 

"Should I be worried?" Kris asks, finally losing the last of his post-orgasm high. He sits up and uses a kleenex to wipe halfheartedly at the mess he's made. 

"No, I need to know if we need condoms or not for the bye week." Flower, Claude, and him are spending the week in Cabo, which Kris is looking forward to. It's been a while since all three of them were in the same place, especially since Flower went to Vegas.

Kris hasn't had sex with anyone besides Flower and Claude since… summer, at least. And even that was a quick hookup. Really, the two of them have been his steadiest partners since the Pens' last Cup win, and they'd been sleeping together regularly before that. Either way, he's gotten tested since the season started. 

"It's fine, leave the condoms unless you want to make cleanup easier," he says. "I can't believe you just brought it up like that, christ, Flower. Let a guy have some afterglow." 

Flower laughs quietly on the other end of the line, so familiar that Kris can't help but smile. There was a time when the sound would make his chest ache, and it still does, kind of. But just because they fit together differently now, a couple of thousand miles away, that doesn't mean they still don't fit. 

"I mean, if you really wanted to go again, I'm sure that could be arranged," Flower says, voice dropping. 

"Not now," Kris groans, "I'm getting old. Hey, how do _you_ do it, anyway?" 

"I hope that's not a stab at my age," Flower says, sounding suspicious. He'd had something of a midlife crisis last year, and apparently stopped talking to Claude for a week when he'd made a joke about it. 

Kris waits just long enough that his, "Of course not, you're not old," can't come off as anything but insincere, and grins when Flower hangs up on him. 

He's pretty sure he'll call back. Anyway, it's easier to get cleaned up when he's got both hands free.

***

"Hey," Claude says, sliding onto the seat next to him. He looks relaxed, and the bridge of his nose is slightly sunburnt. He and Flower have been in Cabo for a day already, since Kris had gotten a later flight out.

Kris had gotten a room for appearances' sake, even though he's pretty sure he's going to be spending all of his time in Flower's, and taken a shower before coming down to the hotel restaurant. He's already finished his dinner, and he raises his glass of ice cubes and an inch of water in a lazy salute. "Hey yourself. Where's Flower?" 

"Our room," Claude says. "He's got a surprise." 

"A sex surprise?" Kris asks, because he knows that tone. It hasn't been that long since he's seen either of them, and it's not like he needs some sort of big reunion. He's been thinking about that picture Flower had sent of Claude all splayed out in bed with the ink Kris had put on him. He may have jerked off to it once or twice. 

Claude shrugs. "I mean, it's not _not_ a sex surprise," like that clears things up. 

"Alright," Kris says, tipping his glass back and crunching on an ice cube. "Lead the way, we wouldn't want to keep Flower waiting." 

Claude and Flower have two rooms on the third floor, which is better than Kris' fourth floor room. Flower's room has one bed—a king, by the looks of it—and Kris has a feeling they're going to be spending a lot of time in it. 

After the usual pleasantries have been exchanged, Flower shoots him a look and grins. "Hey, ready to get freaky?" 

"I'm always ready to get freaky," Kris says, kicking his shoes off. He's been low-key turned on since Claude sent him a snap of him and Flower at the beach while Kris was still at the airport. "Going to let me in on what the plan is?" 

"It's a surprise," Flower tells him. "I'm going to go grab the stuff, it's in Claude's room. You'll need your shirt off, though, and Claude's got something kinky for you." 

He slips out the door while Claude calls after him, "It's not kinky, it's a sleep mask! Idiot," he mutters to Kris. 

No shirt and a blindfold means it's probably something to do with ink, because Kris knows how Flower rolls. There's just the small problem of 'Kris' and 'ink.' 

"Not a sex thing, huh?" he says after he takes his shirt off, because he'd been planning on doing that anyway. He raises an eyebrow at the sleep mask Claude hands him. 

Claude rolls his eyes. "It wasn't my idea. Just humor him," he says, and Kris sighs and puts it on. 

"You know I can't get inked," he says to the darkness. He waves a hand out to find Claude and ends up smacking him lightly in the face, if the noise Claude makes is any indication. "And I'm not comfortable with the unblessed kind. If you're doing something permanent—"

"We're not," Claude says, wrapping his hands around Kris' wrists. "We're not stupid, we wouldn't do that. Do you really think Marc would do anything that could hurt you?" and Kris doesn't, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like not knowing. He changes the subject, seeing as Claude just gave him the perfect opening. 

"That's still weird, the Marc thing," Kris tells him, shifting his wrists just to feel Claude tighten his grip. "Call him Fleury or something." 

"You want me to start calling you Letang in bed again, _Kris_?" Claude asks. Kris can't see his face, but he sounds amused. 

Kris is saved from having to answer by the sound of the door opening. 

"Got it," Flower says, and then there's a clatter from the desk. "You still good, Tanger?" 

"You've been gone for like, a minute and a half," Kris says. "Come on, let's get this show on the road so Claude will let me take this off." 

"It's clean," Claude says, like that's the problem, and Kris rolls his eyes where no one can see. 

"Okay," Flower says, and then Kris hears him cross the carpet. There's a click, and then Flower's hand settles on his shoulder, as familiar as anything. Something cool touches his back, and Kris jerks forward before he can stop himself, then scowls. He _knows_ how to do this, knows how to hold still and let someone work. The sense-memory hasn't changed just because he can't get inked anymore. He should know better than to make any unexpected movements. 

"Breathe," Claude tells him. He moves his hands up to Kris' arms and scratches his nails down the skin. It's too soon for the pain to be pleasurable, but Kris grudgingly admires the effort. "This is supposed to be fun."

"And if it's not, blame Claude," Flower says. He's got a hand over Kris' hip, his thumb the only part that's touching skin. This time, when the cool sensation comes back Kris doesn't flinch. 

Flower drags whatever it is up, then over, in jagged waves. The tip of whatever is touching him is faintly damp and smells like… 

"Are you _drawing_ on me?" Kris finally asks. He reaches up to take the blindfold off, and Claude doesn't stop him. 

When he turns around, Flower is standing behind him with a blue marker—something child-safe, not anything permanent. 

"Fucking hell, you made me think you were going to ink me," he says. He can't tell if the feeling running through him is relief or disappointment or some unholy combination of both. "Why are you the one with the marker? Claude's bedside manner is atrocious."

Claude snorts. "Like you would let me get behind you if you thought I might have a needle." 

Kris probably would have, but now's not the time. 

"I brought wipes, if you hate it," Flower tells him. fiddling with the cap. That's the only indication that he's nervous. "We thought—" Claude coughs. "—okay, _I_ thought that you'd think it was stupid if you knew and wouldn't give it a chance, so. Blindfold." 

Kris walks to the door, which has a mirror on the back of it, and twists around. He can't see everything, but he can see enough. There's a scrawl of blue meandering across his lower back, cresting the dip of his spine.

It's the silhouette of a mountain range. 

Flower has always liked Japanese designs. He'd done lotus flowers for all of their Cup runs, and most of his other inks were in the same minimalist design. Kris had usually favored things that were more realistic, but this… 

"No it's—it's good," Kris says. Flower's shoulders untense perceptibly. 

"You want to keep going?" he asks, and Kris thinks about that swath of blue and the shock of seeing color on his skin after so long. It was startling and different, but it wasn't… bad. It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but he _wants_ in a sudden sweep of need that feels like he's been repressing it for years. 

"Okay," he says. He wants to reach behind him and trace the curve of the mountain, but he wouldn't be able to feel it, let alone see it without the mirror. "Yeah, okay." 

"How are we doing this?" Claude asks, breaking some of the tension in the room. "Are we just going for it, or are we doing some kind of marker circle jerk? Marker jerk."

"We can take turns," Kris suggests. "Someone gets to be the canvas for a while, then we switch. We can do whatever after that." 

"Sounds good to me," Flower says, shrugging. "Who's first?"

Flower is first, as it turns out. They strip down to their underwear, since Kris doesn't feel like freezing his balls off, and Claude starts on Flower's back. Kris smirks when Flower jumps. 

Flower has a couple of inks right now—a lotus on his shoulder blade, a geometric shape on his pec, a tiny playing card spade on the inside of his middle finger—and Kris makes sure to avoid them. They'd settled on nothing above the neck, but that still leaves a lot of skin that's fair game. 

Claude is filling in circles on Flower's non-inked shoulder blade. Or, not circles, Kris realizes as Claude draws a skinny oval sideways through one, but planets. He begins adding stars as Kris finally starts paying attention to what he's supposed to be drawing, and Kris doesn't miss the amused look Flower shoots him. 

Flower had told him about his and Claude's planetarium outing, but it was Claude who had snapped him a picture of Flower napping during the telescope portion. Kris doesn't know if the planets are a subtle chirp or simply because Claude likes space, but he guesses it doesn't really matter. 

"Stop flexing," Kris says as he runs the marker in a swooping arc across Flower's abs. "You're destroying the art." It's going to be a wave, like in that one famous print. That is, if Flower doesn't mess it up for him. 

"Control freak," Flower says fondly, and Kris hears Claude snort but ignores it. He's got a marker in his hand, and for the second time in years he's _inking_ again, or as close as he can get without a gun in his hand. 

The wave takes shape, and he adds a mountain range in the background and a shark in the water, just because. He doesn't know if he'd call this sexy, like he'd been expecting when Claude said 'surprise,' but it's fun. And then Flower shifts and the muscles in his thighs bunch, and Kris gets it, gets why this could be used as foreplay. 

"Okay," he says, pushing himself up off his knees, because otherwise he's going to end up blowing Flower and he thinks they probably wouldn't get back on track after that. "Claude, you're next."

Flower is hogging the markers, so Kris ends up with a red and a purple and stands behind Claude, trying to think of what he should draw. Flower is coloring Claude's fingertips, and Claude keeps pressing them to Flower's skin so he has an array of polka-dots on his chest above the waves. 

"Need a different color?" Flower asks, capping up the blue and switching it for a green. 

Kris shakes his head and finally takes the cap off his red marker. The fleur-de-lis is still visible between Claude's shoulder blades, if just barely, and he thinks he can probably incorporate it somehow. Birds, maybe. It's close enough thematically to the Flyers, and he can probably fit a penguin in there without Claude throwing a fit. 

He starts loose, curling lines weaving around the fleur-de-lis. It's going to be abstract rather than realistic, but he can work with that. He's always liked doing feathers.

Kris has finished up with the red and is starting on the purple—working on the beak of an egret—when Claude suddenly asks, "What are you writing?" 

"I'm not writing anything," Kris tells him, adding a couple of talons.

Claude looks at Flower as if for confirmation, but doesn't seem reassured even when he shakes his head. "It feels like you're writing something." 

"I'm _not_ ," Kris stresses. He puts the tip of the marker back to Claude's skin, only to have him twitch a second later. 

"Okay, come on, look," Kris says, crossing to the bed and digging his phone out of his pants. He opens the camera and takes a quick picture before holding it in front of Claude's face. "There, see? I told you." 

Claude is staring at the stretch of skin on the screen, though. The eagle is half-finished and the penguin doesn't look like much right now, but Claude seems mesmerized. He takes the phone and pinches the screen to zoom in, then does it again in a different place. 

"That's really good," he says, and maybe Kris should be offended by how surprised he sounds, but there's something in the way Claude can't take his eyes off the phone that makes his skin feel hot. "That's really…" He looks up, and Kris has no idea what his face is doing, but Claude smiles. It's this tiny thing, much smaller than his normal smirks, and Kris coughs. 

"If you turn back around, I'll do more," he says, ignoring how rough his voice sounds. 

Claude looks at him for another moment, his eyes dark, and then nods and turns. Flower, miracle of miracles, passes Kris the blue without saying anything. 

By the time the menagerie is done, Flower has switched to drawing stars on Claude's chest. He'd either caught a glimpse of the planets Claude had left on him, or they're just that in sync. Either way, Kris doodles a tiny penis on Claude's hip while he's paying attention to Flower. 

"Your turn," Flower says when Kris gives his marker back. Claude looks like he wants to ask Kris to take another picture of his back so he can see it, but he holds his tongue. Kris thinks for a minute about refusing, staying unmarked, but he actually doesn't want to. 

"Okay," he says, and Claude and Flower sort out the markers. Kris thinks about drawing on himself the way he'd used to ink his left arm and thighs, but he thinks even with a marker he can't do that now. 

Claude and Flower both start at his front, maybe so he can see what they're doing. Claude colors a neat row of playing suits across his chest, then runs a finger across the line Flower had just drawn, smudging it. 

"Hey," Flower complains, but honestly, neither of them are artists. Flower's doing something abstract, and it's almost an improvement. 

They cover most of his chest with color, and it's strangely soothing and erotic at the same time. Kris has been ready to go since he'd knelt in front of Flower's dick, and when Claude finishes up with his latest marker and caps it, Kris gets a hand around his neck and pulls him in. 

"What if I wasn't done?" Claude asks around the kiss. He's running his hands up and down Kris' chest though, so he's obviously not that cut up about it. 

"I think you are now," Flower says, tossing their markers towards the bed. A couple bounce off and roll, but none of them make any move to get them. 

"Okay," Claude says, eyes heavy-lidded. "Done," and reaches for the two of them. 

They make out in a jumble of limbs and stroking hands for a while, and Kris kisses the swell of Flower's bicep, the curve of Claude's neck, and gets Flower's tongue in his mouth when he finally stops kissing Claude. Someone's jerking him off, but he doesn't know who, and he doesn't care. 

Fuck, he loves the bye week. 

When they sort themselves out, Flower drops to his knees on the plush carpet and pulls down Kris' underwear with his teeth, which is a sight that Kris is going to be jerking off to for quite some time. He's glad they'd opted for no condoms when he gets to rub the head of his dick over Flower's open mouth and watch his eyelids flutter shut. 

"No biting," Kris says, even though that's only going to make it more likely that Flower nips him. Claude disguises his laugh as a cough, but probably not soon enough to escape Flower's notice. 

Claude kisses the back of his neck while Flower blows him, occasionally running his fingers over Flower's cheeks. Flower is a tease, playing with Kris' balls one minute and tonguing below the head of his cock the next, keeping him on edge but not giving him enough to go over. That's the thing with sleeping with someone for so long, Kris thinks. There's not much they don't know about your body anymore. 

"Hey, can you come in his mouth? I want to see him swallow," Claude says in his ear, and that's pretty much all it takes. Flower grips his hips while he comes, and Claude whispers a string of filth in his ear, then runs his hands up and down Kris' sides while he comes back down. 

"I don't know why you like that so much," Flower says to Claude after he's gotten off his knees and discarded his underwear. "You're the one who usually spits." 

Claude pulls him in and kisses him, filthy and deep, before pulling back. "It's different like this," he says. "It's really hot. Now come on, I want someone to fuck me," and Kris thinks that can probably be arranged. 

It seems like Claude wants to keep kissing Flower, so Kris gets behind him and works Claude's underwear down until it hits the floor and he kicks it aside. Flower tosses Kris the lube from his bag, but he doesn't get down to it right away. He runs his hands up and down Claude's back and traces the faint outline of the fleur-de-lis with his tongue until Claude gets restless, then gets a finger in him. When Flower reaches up and pinches a nipple, Claude makes a tiny "ah" noise and works his hips back further. 

"Do you like that?" Kris asks. 

"Don't ask stupid fucking quest—" Claude starts, only to cut off with a moan when Kris gives him another finger and pulls his hair with his non-lubed hand. 

"Yeah, he likes it," Flower says, eyes dark, and Kris shivers. 

Kris runs the hand that has lube on it on Flower's dick, and then they get Claude turned around. Claude winds his arms around Kris' neck and presses their chests together while Flower steps closer. Claude is shaking slightly against him, his eyes huge and greedy. "Come on," he says, reaching behind himself and pulling at Flower's arm. "Fuck me already," and Flower gets lined up and starts to push in. 

Claude might not be up for getting fucked often, but Kris loves when he is. Not necessarily the act itself, but how responsive Claude gets. He makes more noise, and his mouth will drop open, and sometimes he'll start swearing under his breath in a constant verbalization of how overwhelmed he feels. Kris doesn't think they'll get there tonight, but it's not like that's a problem. 

"Down a little," Claude says as Flower pulls out and starts to push back in. He angles his hand like he wants, and Flower hums and pulls Claude's hips back and then they're fucking. 

Flower gets pink and focused when he does this, and Kris remembers a hundred times before—Flower fucking Kris in a bed or against a wall or in a storage room at the practice rink, once. Kris has had his turns getting Flower stretched out and losing himself in the heat of his body, but he thinks he likes this way better, especially with the tiny sounds spilling out of Claude's mouth. Flower has one hand on Claude's hip and the other on Kris' shoulder, and Kris can feel him flexing his fingers, all three of them connected. 

If Kris could go again right now he'd be jerking off, and if he thought Claude didn't need something to hold on to, he'd be on his knees blowing him. He settles for wrapping a hand around Claude's leaking dick and letting Claude fuck into it, or rather, letting _Flower_ fuck Claude into it. 

Claude must have been worked up, because it doesn't take long before he bites Kris' shoulder, trembling, and comes. Kris wraps an arm around his waist as Flower pulls out and comes into his hand a dozen strokes later. He would have liked to have jerked Flower off, but he has plenty of time to make up for it later. 

"Why the fuck didn't we use the bed," Claude asks when he's got his legs back under him. 

Flower laughs quietly against Kris' shoulder. "We can use it later," he says, then drags Kris over to the bed. They end up sprawled out on top of the comforter, markers kicked to the floor or moved to the bedside table. Kris thinks there's probably one still in the bed somewhere, but that's a problem for the future. 

He watches while Claude stands in the middle of the room and stretches his arms above his head, utterly unselfconscious. Claude turns around, and Kris checks out the play of his muscles as he bends down and snags his pants off the floor, then pulls them on without bothering with underwear. 

"Where are you going?" Flower asks as Claude grabs Kris' shirt. 

"Ice," Claude says. "I want a drink, I'm so fucking thirsty," then snags the bucket and heads out the door. 

Kris looks at Flower, but he just shrugs. "He has a thing about room temperature water." 

The room smells of come and marker fumes, and it feels oddly large without Claude. Kris gets up to put his underwear back on—it's cold, and he doesn't feel like moving Flower to get under the covers—then sits back down. He plays with Flower's hair for a minute before finally breaking the silence. 

"That was actually a pretty good idea." He shifts so he can trace the solar system Claude left on Flower's shoulder. His fingers itch to add to it—galaxies, maybe—but the urge isn't overwhelming. Maybe later, if they have a round two. 

"It was Claude's idea," Flower tells him, and his surprise must show on his face. "I mean, I think part of it was so he wouldn't have to get inked again any time soon, but you know." Flower shrugs, something knowing in his eyes. "I'm pretty sure that was just part of it." 

Looking at it, it does seem obvious. The markers had lacked the bite of a real needle, the heady rush of pain, but it was just different enough that it had _worked_. The colors, the art, the… fun. It probably would have just frustrated Kris with what he couldn't have if he'd tried it a year or two before, but not now. Claude might not have known how much Kris liked his ink, or how much he missed it, but he'd still managed to hit the nail on the head when it came to finding something similar but dissimilar. Flower probably had more of a hand in this than he's letting on, but if Flower says it was Claude's idea then Kris believes him. 

"You know, Loggia is pretty good," Flower says in a complete non sequitur. "Or Pagnotto's, he likes Italian." 

"Who?" Kris asks, though he already knows. 

"Claude," Flower says. "If you ever want to take him on an actual date. Don't tell him I told you, but he's kind of a romantic." 

"I don't want to date him," Kris says. He's fine with the way things are now, and he's pretty sure Claude is too.

Flower doesn't look at all convinced. "Just because we didn't work doesn't mean that he won't," he says, like Kris is an idiot. 

"We didn't work because you nearly bit my dick off that one time," Kris says. That isn't the real reason at all, but it's an old argument that will distract Flower from talking about him dating Claude. 

Flower gives him a look like he knows exactly what Kris is doing, but he doesn't press. "First of all, that fire alarm was loud. Second of all, I _barely grazed you_. You've had worse injuries washing your junk."

"Ah, so you admit that it was an injury," Kris says, and dodges when Flower tries to twist his nipple. They tussle until Claude returns with the ice bucket and Kris lets Flower out of the headlock he'd been trying to hold. 

"Stop talking about me," is the first thing out of Claude's mouth. Despite the fact that they'd been doing just that a minute ago, Kris rolls his eyes. 

"Ego much?" he asks. He easily dodges the ice cube Claude throws at him, only for Flower to scoop it off the bed and shove it down his underwear. 

" _Fuck_ , you fucking—" he yelps, scooping it out from where it's melting on his dick and throwing it at Flower, who bats it away. 

"You looked a little overheated," Flower says with a straight face. 

"You're going to get the bed wet," Claude says, like he wasn't the one who'd started it. He discards the clothes he'd put on to go outside the room and climbs on the mattress, bullying Kris over until he's made a space for himself between him and Flower. 

"Hey," Kris says, because now seems like the right time, and because he thinks Flower might keep poking at him until he says something. "Thanks for this." 

Claude looks a little startled. He has his mouth open to say something, but Flower beats him to it. "You got me something nice, I figured I'd get you something nice," he says, playfully running a hand through Claude's hair. 

"What the fuck," Claude says flatly. "That was my idea, you don't get to take credit. Also, since when am I something nice?" 

"You don't think you're nice?" Flower asks, fake innocent. "I think you're the nicest." He bats his lashes, and Claude gets a hand in his face and pushes him away while Flower cackles. 

"I'll hold him down, you hit him?" Claude asks, raising an eyebrow at Kris. 

"Sure," Kris says, then rolls on top of Claude and tries to smother him, because he remembers who had thrown that ice cube. Flower piles on after him, and Claude shoves at them while he starts to laugh. Flower's face ends up next to Kris', his eyes bright and mischievous, and Kris loves him. He's always loved him, even if he wouldn't say they're _in_ love. 

"You're too fucking heavy," Claude complains. He shoves at Flower, then makes an undignified sound when Kris takes the opportunity to dig his fingers into his side. 

Claude kicks, hitting Flower if the way Flower wheezes and says, "Tanger, fuck," is any indication, but Kris doesn't stop trying to tickle him until Claude bites. 

"Vampire," Kris accuses, rolling off and nursing his arm. That _hurt_. 

Flower had moved sometime while they were grappling and is now propped against the headboard, trying to discreetly film them if the phone in his hand is any indication. Kris flips him off and grabs for it, but Flower tosses the phone on the bedside table before he can reach. 

They lie like that for a while, Kris' legs thrown over Claude's, Claude's head on Flower's thigh, Flower playing with Kris' hair. It feels comfortable, like this is what they're supposed to be doing, and not like nobody knows how to break an awkward silence. 

"Okay, who gets the middle?" Kris asks eventually, because if he falls asleep like this he has a feeling someone's going to draw on his face, rules or no. He's fine with taking the middle, since Claude always overheats and Flower is a restless sleeper, but he doesn't feel like fighting for it.

"Not you," Claude says, climbing over Flower and shoving him to the middle of the bed. 

"What the fuck is wrong with me taking the middle?" Kris asks, raising his head and blinking. 

"You snore," Claude and Flower say at the same time, and Kris doesn't dignify that slander with a reply. He still has to go grab his bags from his room, seeing as it's got his toothbrush and everything, but for now he's content to lie here and listen to Claude and Flower talk about what they should do tomorrow. 

***

Kris wakes up in the middle of the night to the bed moving gently, the slick sounds of bodies meeting. Flower's legs are splayed around Claude's waist, the pale skin of his thighs practically glowing in the moonlight coming in through the curtains. Kris runs a hand over Claude's side, and Claude makes a startled sound, jerks his hips forward enough that Flower moans. 

Claude holds Kris' gaze in the semi-dark for a long moment, still fucking into Flower slow and deep, and then focuses back. 

Kris thinks about joining them, but he doesn't feel the need to. The room is dark and warm, and he's content to slide his hand down until he can touch where they're joined, then palms Claude's balls. He presses his thumb to the furl of Claude's hole and feels him shiver, but doesn't take it further than that. The night feels languid, and he's content to let them do all the work, to watch the way Flower's pupils are huge, his mouth hanging open as he sucks in quiet breaths, Claude touching him like he can't stop, and falls back asleep to the rocking lull of the bed. 

***

They fuck through most of the rest of the break, in between visiting beaches and seeing the sights, until Claude has to leave for Philly. Then it's just him and Flower like it used to be in the old days. Not exactly like the old days, considering the snaps they send Claude, but close enough. 

Flower is familiar and easy, and Kris has _missed_ him. Not anything specific, just all the small moments you get from spending time with someone everyday—working and celebrating and commiserating and driving each other quietly insane. He's even found himself missing Flower's pranks in the past couple of years, but he seriously rethinks that after he gets home and opens his suitcase to find that Flower has filled it with glitter. 

Claude promises to get back at Flower with him for that, so Kris thinks he's probably not the only person Flower had gotten. Still, it would have been nice if Claude had _warned_ him, but Kris can't say he wouldn't have done the same thing if their roles were reversed. 

Life goes on. Sid changes his blessing from endurance to speed and the media circuit goes fucking nuts. Riiko's inker mishears him and puts a dandelion on his calf instead of a lion, much to the amusement of the locker room. Claude snaps him a picture of his dogs, and Flower snaps him a picture of his dick, and Kris snaps them a picture of his dick and one of Sid snoring on the plane, respectively.

So, pretty much business as normal. 

Rusty still asks around for what his ink should look like, but now Kris has started thinking about chiming in. He never has before, and people are usually quiet about the subject of inks around him. It's kind of insulting, but Kris has never done anything about it. Maybe it's time to start. 

"I mean, if you want to do some designs for Rusty or whoever, you should go for it," Flower tells him. That's not why Kris had called, but it's what he'd ended up talking about anyway. "You always loved it—drawing, inking, all that stuff. I know it's different now, but that doesn't mean you still can't do it."

Kris hums noncommittally, and Flower changes the subject to what he and Subbs have been up to, but Kris keeps thinking about it. He's pretty sure Flower can tell he's distracted, but he doesn't seem to mind. 

Maybe he could send some sketches to Claude. Kris thinks he'd like that, if the way he'd stared at the picture of his back on Kris' phone was any indication. It still feels too soon to make this a team thing, too much like the blessings he used to be able to get, but it's not like there's any hurry. He's spent a long time building ink up to be this big _thing_ , but he thinks about markers in a hotel room in Cabo and how much fun Flower and Claude had been having. How much fun _he'd_ had. 

He thinks it could be fun again, if he let it. 

***

Kris texts Claude to meet him after the game in the parking garage. Even though the Pens lose in the shootout, Kris makes sure not to take forever in the showers. When he finally gets to his car, he finds Claude leaning up against it like last time, same toque and all.

"Planning on asking me to tattoo your entire back or something?" Claude asks, smiling faintly as Kris walks up. 

Kris snorts. "No, I thought I'd see if you wanted to get something to eat before we head back to my place. There's this new Italian restaurant I've been wanting to check out, I thought you might like to try it."

Claude pushes himself off the car and gives Kris an unimpressed look. "You know, you don't have to do everything Marc tells you to," he says, and Kris should have known that Flower had told him about his date idea. That, or Claude had been eavesdropping in Cabo, but it's probably the first thing.

"You're such a dick," he says, but Claude hasn't said no, so he's planning on running with it. "I can't like Italian? Just for that, you're paying."

"I always pay," Claude crabs, shoving his hands under his arms. He's not wearing gloves for some reason, though Kris has two pairs of his back at his house. "When was the last time you paid for anything?" 

"The last time we got takeout?" Kris says. "The time you 'couldn't find your wallet' when we ordered pizza? Smoothies? Come on, don't tell me your memory is that bad." 

"I really couldn't find my wallet, that doesn't count," Claude argues while Kris walks around the car. "And the only reason you paid for the takeout was because—" 

"Just get in," Kris interrupts, pulling the door open for him. "I made reservations, you're going to make me look bad," and Claude smirks but he climbs in. 

"You know, I don't think you need help looking bad," he says before Kris shuts the door, and Kris is definitely sticking him with the bill now. 

They aren't the dating type, Kris thinks as he starts the car and Claude begins messing with his presets, but that doesn't mean they can't eat good pasta and breadsticks together. Who knows, maybe they'll surprise themselves. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [dreamwidth](https://enter-remiges.dreamwidth.org/), where I post fic extras and yell about various things! I'm also on [tumblr](https://enter-remiges.tumblr.com/).


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